Flowers for Locksley
by hopefulfeathers
Summary: An OQFixItWeek oneshot, Roni Day: Every Sunday, Roni makes it a habit of going to lay flowers at each grave in the small Hyperion Heights Cemetery. For some odd reason, she always finds herself lingering at one particular grave belonging to a Robin Locksley. It takes just one change in her routine for Roni to realize that the man she knows is dead may be closer than she realizes


**Hey everybody! Here's a oneshot finally for OQFixItWeek! Again, this is written in first person, Regina's point of view because I guess it's sort of becoming to be my modus operandi with these types of** **oneshots ;) Anyway, I give you an elaboration of a prompt given to me for this day by my one and only bestie, thequeenregina! Please enjoy and let me know what you think!**

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If you take a walk from where I live, down the street, cut across a corner, and up the side of Clarkson Street, you'll find my bar. Walk a little further along up about three blocks, I'd say, take a left and then another left and you'll find yourself up beside a shopping strip. It's nothing really special to look at; just a motley collection of randomly placed shops and boutiques and little places to eat. Very gentrified, but not very interesting. What's interesting is what lies across from this smorgasbord of stores. _Hyperion Heights Cemetery_.

It's not the most attractive cemetery you've ever seen; no abundant flowers of all sorts of colors or verdant green grass underfoot. I'll admit it is about average: a few trees here and there, few benches where you can sit and reminisce. But I don't care so much about its appearance. I care that it's simple, humble; a respectful little plot of land in which to lay and pay honor to the dead.

It has become a habit of mine, every Sunday, to come and lay flowers at each of the graves in the area just before I go to open my bar. Call it a ritual. There are about twenty or so graves in the allotment, so that's twenty or so white roses; one for each stone.

I'm not exactly sure why I do it, or how I've come to do it in the first place. I'm not really honoring anyone in particular. But I think it's just simply an honorable thing to do. Not only that, but it helps me clear my mind and concern myself for just a brief moment with each person for whom I lay the flowers. As I place a rose at the foot of each gravestone, I like to think about each person's time on earth: the kind of people they were, the stories they lived, the people they loved. Just by reading the inscriptions on their tombstones, I can gather quite a bit of information. But I know it's never enough. How can one simply sum up a person's entire life story in one simple caption or quote? But at least it's better than nothing.

So, it's Sunday. The air is chilly as I step out of my little studio apartment and make my way down that lonely little side road. Another week has just begun, another seven days of the same old thing, the same old routine. I feel as if I'm living in a vacuum, neither moving forward nor backward. The only thing remaining as an indicator of passing time is the gentrification of the neighborhood, which is nothing but depressing. There's only a matter of time until this place changes into something completely different than what it used to be. And it's all due to the work of the infamous Victoria Belfrey. God, I hate that woman. As I move through the neighborhood, I can't help but shake my head in sheer disappointment each time I notice a "for sale" sign up…or a sign noting, "property of Belfrey Developments". All I can think of is those poor people forced from their homes, from all they've ever known. It makes me sick.

So, I stomp down the road, the chilling wind of fall biting my cheeks and blowing my curls into a frizz ball atop my head. Leaves swirl around my feet as I navigate across the corner intersection and turn down Clarkson. And there, right on the second left of the road, I'm delighted to still find my favorite flower place intact; safe from the clutches of Belfrey, at least for now.

"Roni!" the shop's bubbly florist greets, jumping up from her stool from behind the counter. I can't help but smile in return. Bella is the kind of person whose happy-go-lucky mood is contagious no matter how somber you may feel. "Beautiful day isn't it?"

"Hey, Bella," I chuckle, shaking my head fondly. "Beautiful," I agree, "But freezing."

"Well, thankfully I've got the heater on and working again. Just in the nick of time, it seems." Bella grins, making her way towards where I stand rubbing my palms together. "What can I do for you?"

I shrug a shoulder. "The usual," I reply, briefly scanning the store's elaborate and colorful displays of a variety of different types of flowers. "Twenty white roses."

Bella laughs, shaking her head. "I knew you were gonna say that," she remarks before narrowing her eyes at me. "Are you sure you don't want to go for something different? White roses are elegant, but a bit boring after a while. Maybe switch it up?" The bouncy blonde smirks. "The dead would appreciate it."

"Oh, okay, fine," I relent before taking a step towards the first bunch of flowers that catch my eye sitting just on the end of the first display table. "What are these?"

Immediately, upon hearing my selection, Bella is practically jumping up and down. Her reaction takes me aback slightly, making me even more curious. I tilt my head. "Oooh! _These_ are orchids," she introduces, picking up a bouquet and holding it out to me, a wide grin plastered across her features.

"Orchids," I repeat cautiously before reaching out to touch one of their purple petals, feeling its softness brush gently against the pads of my finger. Intrigued, I lean down and press my nose to it. "They don't smell like much."

Bella giggles. "Nope! But don't underestimate them," she says with a slight smirk, "They are said to represent beauty and strength…and love."

"Love?" I echo, raising a brow, "Really?"

"Mhmm!" She nods. "Really, you should take some. You never know!"

I frown, shaking my head confusedly. "I never know what?"

"Just that…" Bella says, nonchalantly shrugging a shoulder, "You never know what can happen with a little change, a little switch up to your usual white roses."

At this, I laugh incredulously. "All right," I chuckle, "Fine, you've got me convinced. But, I do still want at least nineteen roses."

I follow a practically skipping Bella over to the register. After I pay, I gather my loot (purple orchids included). It's then that I'm heading to the exit when suddenly I see a sparkle catch my eye. Looking down I witness the orchids, which lay pressed closest to my chest, sparkling curiously as if they had been sprinkled with some kind of glitter. I shake my head and blink rapidly. But when I open my eyes, they look just as they appeared before: very purple, very beautiful…not very sparkly.

With a bemused frown, I turn back to where Bella lingers by the counter. "Um, Bella," I call, my voice in a higher octave, "Is there a reason why—" But I'm cut off by the obnoxious ringing of the shop's phone.

"Oh, sorry, Roni!" Bella exclaims, flashing me a peculiar smile that I can't quite read, "Duty calls!"

I sigh, shaking my head as I watch the blonde scramble to answer the phone. Saved by the ring, I suppose. With a shrug, I turn to leave.

Wandering back outside, I continue my journey down the street. Trying to shield the petals of my flowers from the harsh wind, I walk swiftly; body leaning purposefully into the gusts. I'm making good time; a nice and luxurious forty-five minutes on which to spend at the graveyard before I open at ten.

Well…I _would_ be making good time, that is until suddenly I'm turning the corner and crashing straight into none other than Victoria Belfrey herself. I gasp sharply as I do, dropping my flowers upon the impact. With a groan, I bend down and pick them up, all the while refusing to submit to feeling inferior underneath her harsh, critical gaze.

"Going somewhere, Roni?" Belfrey drawls in that godawful accent. She tilts her head, her eyes scanning my entire being appraisingly. I always got the vibe that she never liked me very much. Perhaps it's due to the difference in our personalities, her being strict and uptight while I'm more loose and laid back. The feeling is mutual.

"Just the cemetery," I reply simply with a smile that doesn't quite touch my eyes.

"You're bringing flowers."

I raise a brow, glancing down at the bouquets in my hand and back up at her. "Uh, yes. Like I do every Sunday." How is it that Belfrey could not have noticed? The goddamn woman has her hands in _everything_.

"Mm, it's a sweet gesture I'll admit," she remarks, promptly ignoring my subtle look of annoyance. I notice that her eyes linger on the orchids for a little longer than they do the rest. "I suppose, I should leave you to it and let you get along with your little ritual, then."

 _Gladly_. I give her a half-hearted smile before brushing past her and quickly continuing on my way.

I arrive at the cemetery thankfully with no other interruptions. As usual, it is empty on this early Sunday morning. I always felt that nobody in this town really spends much time here. It's probably yet another reason why I have this habit. Only the sound of the trees rustling from above and the cheerful singing of a few birds accompany as I navigate my way through the throng of graves, stopping for but a moment and setting a white rose down in front of each.

All the while, I keep the orchids still in my grasp, that is until I come to the second to last grave on my route. I always find myself tending to linger longer at this particular grave. I'm not exactly sure why. But I think nothing much of it as I gaze down once more at the tomb's engravings. _Robin Locksley_ , etched in intricate lettering across the top followed by a quite detailed carving of a coat of arms of some sort: a shield with a lion standing proudly on its hind legs. The image always intrigues me, to say the least. It is by far the most unusual I've seen in this cemetery. I always wondered what the engraved crest had to do with this particular man's life, how that played into his story. It is said that lions symbolize courage and strength. Those two virtues must have had quite a bit of value in his life to end up on his tombstone. Below the crest, a small inscription says, " _Beloved father and lover. A man who left with honor_."

The last sentence always struck a cord with me, for some reason. Again, I don't really know why. With a sigh, I bend down in front of the grave; my knee sinking into the damp leaves covering the ground. Maybe it's the fact that the inscription indicates that this departed soul had died a meaningful death, that he died for a cause whether that be something…or someone. I suppose I'll never know. I lift my eyes back to the first sentence. Father and lover. _Lover_. As I read the word over, I feel something stir inside me. What is it? Sadness? Remorse? Oh, I do ache for his other lover whom he'd left behind. In a way, I can sort of understand and relate…deep down.

Without thinking, I find myself reaching for the separate bouquet of orchids and placing it down in front of Robin's grave. Smiling softly, so lost in my thoughts, I hardly notice the purple petals beginning to glitter once more.

I close my eyes, thinking about my life as a whole. And it's moments like these, people like Robin that remind me that life is precious, that I never know what is to come. The future is never certain. I think about mine. I have my bar. It has become my home, my life. What more is there for me? I know I have everything I could've ever wanted, the calm and simple life I lead. But then why do I feel like I'm stuck—stuck somewhere in a void of time and space? Why do I feel like I'm missing something? I open my eyes again and stare back towards the grave sitting in front of me. I wonder if that's how Robin must feel right now: stuck in an empty void, never knowing the future, never knowing if there's ever a way out or a way beyond where he is. It's a cruel price to pay for a death so righteous, so honorable. What I'd give for this man to have a second chance. I shake my head slowly. He left too soon.

"I wish you were here…" I murmur, the words flowing past my lips before I can even stop them. They take me aback slightly, my heart skipping in my chest. Shaking my head again, I let out a sigh and push myself to stand.

After placing the last rose on the last grave, I make my way from the cemetery, back down towards my bar.

I open exactly on time.

The day is long. The duties of running a bar swiftly gain prominence in my mind as my thoughts and emotions from my time at the cemetery take a backseat. It's very busy for a Sunday, but I'm prepared as usual; serving up my specialties on the double and striking up small talk with a few of the folk. At night, I blend into the background as couples enter the bar; hanging onto one another and whispering into each other's ears. I catch a few particularly inebriated pairs kissing passionately in the corner booths in the shadows of the dim light of the bar. It's strange acting as a sort of third wheel to this kind of stuff that goes on. But then I remind myself I'm merely the bartender. I serve drinks. Nothing else.

I close at midnight, absolutely exhausted from the day's work. When the last customer leaves (staggering through the exit) I let out a huge breath, thankful that I can finally go home and get some well-deserved sleep. However, it's just as I'm gathering my jacket that suddenly the bell on my door chimes and I hear footsteps. I groan inwardly.

"I'm sorry, we're closed," I call out, stuffing the rest of my tips into my back pocket.

"Oh, surely you can serve just one more person?" a voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of my now empty bar.

I halt midway to pulling my jacket on. What…? Slowly, I turn around to face whomever has come and instantly I'm met with a large, slightly smug, dimpled smile and eyes a breathtaking blue. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt underneath a heavy-looking hooded jacket and scarf, the man stands before me, an eyebrow slightly raised. There's a sort of look of amusement on his face. I cock my head curiously.

"I haven't seen you around before."

"Ah, you wouldn't know me," the man replies, dipping his head. "I'm afraid I'm rather new."

My brows pull together in confusion. Well, surely I suppose I wouldn't know him. The man has quite the heavy accent. Then it hits me. "Oh!" I exclaim, "So you must be Henry." I recall hearing through the grapevine somewhere that a new guy was in town. I still have yet to meet him.

The man laughs softly, shaking his head. His smile turns somewhat shy. "No," he answers, "I'm not that lad."

I frown. "Then who are you?"

"Just a fellow looking for a drink."

I snort softly, shaking my head. Letting out a sigh, I relent, moving back around to stand behind the bar counter. "What can I get you?"

"Whiskey," he replies, "Whatever you have."

I nod, getting out a glass and pouring him a bit of bourbon. Smirking slightly, I slide the glass over to him. "So what brings you here?" I inquire as I watch the man lift the glass to his lips. I like the slight stubble he has. For a brief moment, I'm distracted by the way it would feel under my fingers. _Fuck_. Where did that come from? I grab a bottle of vodka and pour myself a shot.

"Well, I have heard that this was the best place in town."

A laugh escapes my lips. I shake my head amusedly before downing the shot in one go. "I meant, what brings you to the Heights?"

At this, the man shrugs. Peculiarly, I find his expression changing to something slightly more solemn, earnest. "If you really want to know," he answers, placing his glass down, "I'm looking for someone."

I raise my brows. If he hadn't had my sincere attention before, he most certainly has it now. "Looking for who?" I breathe.

"A woman…" He lowers his gaze from mine as he absently swirls the amber liquid in the glass. "Her name is Regina."

I swallow hard, reading the sorrow that emits so palpably from his entire being. I can't help but feel for him. Briefly, I'm distracted by my visit to the cemetery from earlier today. "I—I'm sorry." I shake my head. "I'm afraid I don't know anybody by that name."

"It's all right," the man replies quietly. He lifts his head, blue eyes settling on mine once again. I find myself quickly becoming lost in them, in the power that they hold. "I'm sure she'll turn up. I have hope." He smiles softly, tipping the last of his bourbon past his lips.

I frown, tilting my head to the side. There's just something about him… "It's crazy, I know, but…I feel like I know you from somewhere," I can't help but remark.

The man chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Well, I doubt I'd ever forget meeting someone as beautiful as you," he says, that small smirk returning to his lips.

I raise my brows, my own smile inevitably spreading across my features. "Well, I'm flattered."

"You do remind me of her."

My lips part and I take in a soft breath. "I do?"

The man nods, crystal blue eyes searching my own. "You do."

Those two little words linger in the air between us as we continue to stare at one another, getting lost in each other's gaze. I shake my head softly, the first to break the contact; feeling a flush creep across my cheeks. I bite my lower lip.

"Well, I should get going," the man announces, "It's getting rather late, already almost one. I'd hate to be keeping you."

"No, it's fine," I reassure, "I—it's all right."

He smiles gently, handing his empty glass out to me. It's only when I look down to retrieve it from his hand that suddenly my heart stops as I lay eyes on the inner side of his wrist. It's a tattoo…bearing that same crest as the one on the grave in the cemetery. Immediately, my eyes widen, lips parting, heart hammering in my chest.

"Is everything all right?" the man asks slowly, bemused by my strange reaction.

"Uh—um—yes," I stammer, trying to get my mind to form words. "It's just—your tattoo." Swiftly, I reach forward and grab the glass from his hand, placing it down behind the counter.

"Ah, this thing?" He gestures, turning his wrist towards me so that I can get a better view. "Just something that I've received long ago."

I close my mouth, swallowing hard before clearing my throat. "I see," I reply, not very convincingly, however. I shake my head.

The man tilts his head, a slightly puzzled expression remaining on his features before he's nodding. He meets my eyes once again before flashing a smile that almost makes me weak at the knees. I need to pull myself together.

"Well, anyway, it was a pleasure meeting you," he says, boldly offering his hand. Slowly, I clasp my hand around his in a firm handshake, feeling his callouses rub against my palm. I don't miss the way he lets our hands linger together for a moment. He dips his head once more. "Roni," he bids.

I force a small smile to my lips, nodding my head before watching him saunter towards the exit.

"Wait!" I suddenly call out to him.

The man turns, head cocked, eyes piercing mine even from all the way over there.

I clear my throat. "You—uh—you never told me your name."

That smug smile that I first had the pleasure to witness slowly creeps back across his features. He seems to light up the entire empty bar. "Robin," he answers before floating through the exit.

My breath catches in my throat. My mind is blank. I can think of nothing but… In a blur of movement, I'm grabbing my jacket and tugging it on. Rushing towards the exit just a few moments later, I step out into the night; closing and locking the door hastily. It's then that I'm taking off down the street. I'm panting when I arrive back at the cemetery, completely out of breath.

The graveyard is dark, only lit by a few nearby lampposts that cast eerie shadows upon the tombstones. I shiver softly as I make my way slowly through the throng of graves, seeing still the flowers I've placed yesterday morning. In moments, I'm coming to stand where Robin Locksley's grave is supposed to be. However instantly, I gasp, my eyes widening…a chill running down my spine. Then, my head begins to swim.

For the grave is nowhere to be seen. Nothing of its existence is left behind but the orchids that I've placed, which now stand proudly in its place; soft purple petals rustling in the howling wind.

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 **Got a little bit of a Halloween vibe going on in that last part hehe. Thought it could be appropriate for this time of year ;)**

 **Thanks for stopping by, hope you enjoyed it!**


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